Long Withered
by Valtis Fisher
Summary: Coster Drumn and his companion Lance head for Dov in order to offer their services to the Chieftain. Or at least, that's their pretext. The Dovah-Brod fortress holds a powerful secret, and the pair have the specific intention of uncovering it.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Right... I'm just gonna make it really clear, you're probably in for a boring ride to nowhere. I don't think I'm such a great writer, and I certainly lack the ability to finish what I do, so be warned. Also, if you would like to post a review, know that negative ones that show me what I'm doing wrong and how to fix it as well as positive ones telling me what I'm doing right are the most helpful; for me at least. Anything you'd like to comment on I'm willing to receive, however, and I would even personally appreciate nitpicking (to any degree). Then again, you should write what you actually think in reviews, so don't let this comment of mine specifically change what you'll post. I just want you to know what I will appreciate myself, not the people reading the reviews (who the reviews probably *should* be for).

The road behind stretched on and on. Cobblestone, dirty from over-use, but newly built, and in excellent condition otherwise; he supposed dirt from the slope would occasionally slide down to the road, and – combined with the moving of dozens of people to and fro – the result was a well-built road on the side of a mountain with more dirt and mud than a Hjaalmarch track ought to ever have. Perhaps, if the mining performed higher up the mountain slope was done more cautiously, there would not be as much gravel and dirt dropping down. Alas, Dovah-Brod Hold was built, and still is being built, hastily.

The lush trees of Falkrealth were nowhere to be seen on either the road or up the mountain; this face of it, at least.

Sitting in the back of a carriage himself, he could see dozens of horsemen and carriages travelling to and fro, up and down. Previously, he'd seen a band of heavily armored riders, flying Dovah-Brod colors. Such parties they'd often come across as they crossed Falkreath to reach Dov.

"Coster!" Lance called from behind.

Or ahead, depending on whether one took into consideration the direction Coster faced or the one the carriage did, respectively.

Coster sat up in the carriage and turned to face Lance. He'd have asked what he wished, had he not realized the answer immediately upon turning.

Ahead of them stood the outer walls of the Hold. Or rather, the first layer of them. At this part of the route, the road flattened and widened. Before the cliff's drop was a make-shift woven fence. It would hold little, were anything to crash into it, but even now masons worked on replacing it.

Ahead, on the edges of the road, stakes – with guards positioned behind them – faced the road. These guardsmen held the Dovah-Brod flag, and were rather seriously armed.

Next came more stakes, only this time they formed a palisade, tightly held together. As they passed through its gate, they found themselves between two such walls, and surrounded by men, who approached them as they arrived.

One of them, his helm different, spoke and said:

"State your business." in a Nord's accent.

"We're here to see the chieftain." Said Lance. "We wish to speak with him."

"Aye, you're not the first ones to come today. You wouldn't be yesterday, either, if you came at a similar time… or the day before. Right, do you carry any arms?" He asked.

"None." Said Lance.

"What _are_ you carrying then?"

"Only thing on this carriage is us and what's on us. Oh, this is Coster, by the way. Drumn, that is."

Coster addressed a polite nod to their inquisitor, leaning over Lance's shoulder.

"And what's _your_ name?" Said the Nord.

"Lance. Just Lance."

"Fine." He said, and turned to his side, to face a scribe listing (presumably) their names. Seemingly satisfied, he turned back to them. "Exit your carriage."

The two abided, and several guardsmen inspected their carriage. After nothing was found, and despite the captain raising a brow at the guardsmen's report, they were allowed back on their carriage. Peculiarly, there was a rider Coster noticed taking off just as they finally cleared the walls. He rode fast towards the Dovah-Brod Hold.

After some riding of their own, the Hold itself appeared in the distance, just after a bend in the road.

It was built on the side of the mountain, overlooking Falkrealth. Split into three segments, it was extensively vertically built. The lower part consisted of three short, overlapping, vertical cylinder-like wings jutting from the side of the mountain. His research told him that via a route built inside the mountain and hidden from the exterior, they connected to the middle segment. The middle segment was practically a small city, and was referred to as Dov, short for Dov City, which was short for Dovah City. Various specialized buildings and houses, and a wall that surrounded it all on three sides. The one side the wall didn't cover was the one where the fortress stood. It was built higher up the face of the mountain, and only a somewhat narrow path connected it with the middle.

They had to pass by another fortification on the way, however, before they could reach the actual fortress. It was another checkpoint, a stone watchtower and wall, but they thankfully did not have to go through another inspection. The guards there only exchanged nods with them.

"Coster." Said Lance. "I don't think we'll be seeing him today."

"You're right. Probably won't be." The path leading to the fortress, the residence of the chieftain, which started from Dov and cut its way through the mountainside, zigzagging up the mountain, was littered in men on foot, horse, and carriage. They flew all sorts of colours, and the line they formed was completely still. He looked at the sun, and fit only four fingers between it and the horizon. Sighing, and continued: "We'll just have to find an inn, and meet him on the morrow." Taking another look at the path to the fort, he added: "Maybe even the day after".

They continued down the road to Dov.

Author's (Second) Note: Okay, in case you couldn't tell this is not gonna be particularly lore accurate or make sense within the world of Skyrim/Tamriel. Distances might not make sense, locations, characters, ideas, etc.


	2. Chapter 2

Coster sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the fireplace in front of him, and the crackling fire within. This room, however small, and the identical one next to it which Lancer occupied, had cost them fifty septims. Considering they now had only a hundred between them, it was bad news.

 _Then again, I can hear the rain pour down from here. Maybe fifty's not that bad,_ he thought.

Ever since the sun had set a few hours ago, a terrible thunderstorm had appeared. Previously – sitting outside, on the terrace of the Lodestar Inn – he'd seen hundreds of men and women hurry up and down the streets in search of shelter. From all the varied uniforms and colours they wore, the flags they held (in a somewhat uninspired fashion), and languages they spoke, he knew they were the ones who'd been waiting to see the chieftain, now giving up on the notion in the face of the storm. From where he'd sat, he could see a few lanterns being lit up on the path to the fortress, however, and presumed some had chosen to brave the storm.

It had been cold whilst he sat outside as well. Lance had commented on that before he'd retired indoors. Coster had liked it, but – right now – the warmth in his room was god-sent. Too much exposure to the outside had ended up in Coster regretting ever sitting outside at all.

He looked to his right. The door on the right side of the wall there led out to the hallway (which in turn led to the common hall). On the left side of the wall, however, was a desk, the only furniture in the room other than the bed he sat on and the closet opposite.

He was in his smallclothes, contemplating whether or not to visit the lower segment of the Hold now or… sometime in the future.

 _Better risk it now than risk never having another chance_. He got up and walked over to the desk. He'd wrapped most of his belongings within his green hooded cloak, so he had to remove them first and then take inventory on the desk. _Theoretically speaking, the more I carry the more noise I'll make… what to take then?_ He could smell a roast being cooked in the common hall, and hear laughs and people talking. _They seem to be having a merry time… maybe they won't notice me leave; but then – when I open the door – they'll hear the rain and thunder outside, won't they?... Will they_ _ **care**_ _?... Will they even_ _ **remember**_ _…?_

On the desk were several items. His white shirt and matching, blue leather vest. His dark green cloak. His brown leather hat. His coal black pants. His pouch, carrying sixty-five septims. Some carrots, a leek; the inn had plenty of food left, thankfully, so he'd eaten well previously. Last, an incredibly thin shiv he'd smuggled in his boots, the boots that now lay in the corner. Coster and Lance had discussed the smuggling of weapons prior to starting on their journey to Dov. It was not disallowed to enter Dov bearing arms, but they were catalogued, and the pair did not wish anyone to suspect them of… _well_ … _anything_ … _if I'm being honest…_

… _what to take?_

He stripped himself of his smallclothes and placed them in the closet along with his leather vest and hat. _Small chance of anyone coming in, but I'd rather they didn't see an unoccupied room with only these clothes and some vegetables._ He put the rest of his clothes on, keeping the cloak with the fact the dark green colour might prove to better conceal him in darkness than the whiteness of the shirt in mind. He also took his shiv and a few septims, both of which he tucked in his boot. Fifteen pieces of gold, to be exact. The rest he placed in a drawer.

Placing his ear against the door, he stood, and listened. Nothing but the noises he'd heard coming from the common hall before. He opened the door and left his room. To his left, the way to the common hall. To his right, the rest of the Inn's rooms. He turned right and went past three rooms. Reaching the final room on the left, he knocked. After hearing a creak, a sigh, and footsteps approaching from inside the room, he saw the door open.

"Coster? What brings you here?" Lance said.

"I need your help. I've decided I'll be visiting the lower keep tonight." Looking to his left, at the common hall, and making sure there was no one in view of the hallway, he continued: "I hope I haven't woken you?"

"I left you on the terrace about… what… two hours ago? Saying I'll be heading inside for some sleep. What do _you_ think? Ah… what do you need?"

"Aye… I'm sorry. I need you to… cause a distraction."

"A distraction?"

"Yes. I need you to get the attention of the people in the common hall, so no one notices my exit."

"Why?" Lance asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you suspicious of any of them?"

"Not necessarily, but there is no reason for anyone to know a cloaked figure exited the Lodestar Inn at night – in the middle of a thunderstorm – regardless of what events might take place later on tonight."

With yet another sigh, Lance agreed.

A few minutes later, Coster was sitting in the common hall, looking at the firepit in the middle. He sat far away from most people, but was very happy to see he did not particularly stand out, not only not being the only one with a cloak, but being among several armed and armored people that stood out a lot more than he did.

Lance then finally walked in. Producing a few septims from a pouch, he approached the bar and purchased a drink from the innkeeper. Having done so, he joined a semi-circle of men. They sported all kinds of weapons and armors, but no sigil, leading Coster to assume they were mercenaries of one or another kind. _Good choice…_ Coster thought. He couldn't quite hear what they spoke about, but – before long – Lance was frowning at one of the men and speaking louder than before.

After a tiny, signaling glance at Coster, Lance got chest to chest with one of the mercenaries.

Coster knew to get up and reposition near the door, leaning on one of the hall's many supporting beams.

Lance started speaking even louder than before, yelling loudly enough for Coster to hear him say "That so, is it?"

A shove ensued, then even more yelling. A mercenary caught Lance's arm, but Lance pushed him away, and then threw himself on him.

 _Nice…_

Some of the people in the hall started to approach Lance and the mercenaries, now fully engaged in a fistfight, but Coster knew it was his time. He noticed some of the men in the hall had already left the inn, and followed after them.

Once outside, on the terrace, he addressed one of them – a Nord wearing steel plate – in a friendly manner.

"Looks like a right mess in there, huh?"

"Damn right, and it's only gonna get worse. If they don't clear the hall before soon, we'll be hearing about a death or two tomorrow, I think. I'd suggest you keep clear of the Inn tonight, friend. That's what I'll be doing."

With that, the Nord stepped off the terrace, and – alongside many others who did not wish to get involved or witness the fight in the inn – headed off.

Coster– after having pulled up his hood – did the same, and started towards the entrance of the lower Hold.


	3. Chapter 3

The cloak he was wearing had definitely been soaked – he could tell by how heavier it'd grown – but it was thick enough for Coster himself to have been kept quite dry throughout the walk. Only his boots had grown slightly muddy. The road was dark, with the rain pouring down, the clouds blocking the sky, and no lamps to be seen outside. Only a few windows let some light pour out onto the streets, but there were few of those.

And now, before him, stood the entrance to the lower Hold. He only knew what it looked like because of a random encounter with a merchant in Falkrealth. A large rectangle of stone with a gate in the center, five men tall, built on the face of the mountain. Two Dovah-Brod banners on either side, and a large carving depicting Dovah-Brod warriors battling an indistinct foe. They were winning… of course.

 _Must be it… what else?_

The large gate that stood before him seemed impenetrable. Probably was, too. There did seem to be other ways in, however. Towers – jutting from the face of the mountain they were built on – a small distance to the right and left of the gate. He could see there was no door on them; only arrowslits, and a large window on their top floor. _The towers_ _ **must**_ _be accessed from the inside via some route, which means I can access the inside via them._ The arrowslits where too small to crawl inside of, obviously, but the high-up windows were accessible.

After a small amount of time spent scanning each tower, he concluded that the left tower was a lost cause, but he did formulate a plan for the one on the right. Turning around, he went back down the street and turned left in a narrow alleyway. Hoping no one could see him there, he stacked some crates he found on top another. Climbing atop his risky, slippery scaffolding, he boosted himself up. He could not quite reach the roof of the building he was going for from here, but the walls of the adjacent one were close enough for him to ascend with a foot and a hand on each of the two buildings' walls.

Once he did reach the roof, he pulled himself up, but chose to remain in a crouched stance. He was conspicuous enough walking in the streets at this time, he'd be conspicuous enough on a roof at any time. He didn't need to be seen on a roof, at this time. Crawling along the slippery tiles, he reached the ridge of the roof, and peaked over. Across a six or so feet gap after the edge of the roof was the right tower. The window was not quite at this height, but it was less than eight feet higher, and therefore quite manageable.

Trying to forget about the consequences of being found, he climbed over the roof's ridge and slowly slid down the tiles. Reaching the edge, he jumped off.

His heart stood still. Aiming with both his hands for an arrow slit, he took hold of it as he hit the side of the tower with a thud; once his legs found purchase and once he made sure his grip on the slit was firm, he thought: _good… and now, to breath._ He started the slow climb, using the slits of the tower and whatever other purchase he found in protruding bricks. _Maybe getting caught wouldn't be so bad_ , he thought as he looked down. He'd never survive the drop, but he managed to shake off that thought as well.

Once he reached the window, he placed both hands on the sill, and pulled himself up and through. He fell on the floor with a crash, and had to pull his cloak, which had caught on the window. _Phew…_ Taking a few large breaths and feeling the blood once more flow through his body normally, he started getting up. Taking a look at his surroundings, he noticed he was in a candlelit room, with some arrow quivers on the right and bows on th-… there was a guard sitting on a chair in the far right corner. Coster froze in place.

… _Is he asleep?_

The man was wearing an enclosed helmet, so Coster could not tell whether or not his eyes were open; but he was completely still, and his body seemed to be fully relaxed. Coster felt cold sweat course its way down the side of his face. Crouching once more and crawling on all fours, he slowly made his way towards the door located in the far left corner of the room. The guard did not seem to notice him, _thanks the divines… he_ _ **is**_ _asleep._

His blood was drained, and its desperation took its place – flooding his entire body – when the door opened and a female guard stepped in. Coster quickly dropped flat on the floor and slowly crept to the left, where the room was ever so slightly darker.

"Denvis… Denvis!" The newcomer said. She'd entered through the left wall and was facing towards the guard that sat in the right of the room, which meant she didn't see Coster. "Wake up!"

The guard, apparently a male named Denvis, awoke at that moment.

"Aye? I, argh… What is it?" The guard almost fell from his seat as he said that, and then reached beneath his chair, producing a bottle of ale. He looked half-asleep.

"Are you drunk? Nevermind. I think I saw somebody whilst I was downstairs, outside –through the arrow slit – so I thought I… what is it? What are you looki-" _Damn._

Coster got up in a flash and dashed across the room. Within four paces he was on top of the woman, throwing her crashing against the stone wall. His next action was to close the door, which she'd left open, and – after having done that – he threw himself on top of the now dazed guard once more. Feeling the heat through his body as the adrenaline build up, he pinned her down, removed her scale helmet, and bashed her head with it before she could make too much noise. After some hits, and after he saw she was near unconsciousness, eyes failing to meet him and head swaying randomly, he reached for the shiv in his boots.

Leaving her throat bloody, he got up and looked towards the other guard. He was sitting on the floor by his chair, obviously having fallen off it, with a hand raised in the air as if in plea of mercy. He was completely silent save for a quiet sob, and his helmeted head was looking away. He approached him, and found his chest to be unarmored.

" _Please…"_ He whispered between sobs.

Coster aimed for his heart, pierced his flesh and twisted the shiv. Having done that, he continued, stabbing his throat, hoping he might die ever so slightly faster.

Exiting the room, and closing the door behind him after he moved the corpses to a corner and snuffed out the candle, he snuck down the corridor and started descending once he found a stairwell, thankfully finding no one along the way.


	4. Chapter 4

As he descended the stone steps, he noticed his hands were shaking. He put his right hand on the wall and his left on his hip as he took each step, in an effort to make the shake less noticeable, if nothing else. With a terrible knot caught in his throat and cold sweat trickling down the sides of his face, he reached the bottom.

He'd descended ten flights of stairs by that point, and before him stood a door. He paused to hear, and catch his breath; with no noise coming from above – and no noise seeming to come from beyond the door – he lay on the floor, with his back on the wall, to rest. A few large breaths afterwards, he pushed himself up. He leaned against the wall for a bit, trying to calm his nerves, and then turned to the door.

He pushed lightly against it, but it didn't move. It barely made a sound. As anger and frustration started building up within him, he crouched to take a look through the lock. He could see very little, but could still make out a fire-lit room. _If there's a fire, there's probably people…_ he thought.

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood up, and held his head as it throbbed in pain. _This is already going far worse than I expected..._ Thinking back to when he was navigating the hallway above, he tried to remember any other exits that led to a stairwell... _No,_ he thought, _none…_

 _Damn it all to Oblivion._ He took out his shiv, and kicked the door, releasing some of his anger in the strike. It did not produce as much of a noise as he'd expected it to, so heavy did it appear to be, but he had to hope. He kicked again and again, and then threw his body against it. And then – after what sounded like an unbarring – it opened, and before him stood a guard. There was a single second in which they made direct eye contact, the guard frowning in confusion – Coster wearing a similar expression (though his stemmed from anger, and despair), and he thought _maybe this was a bad idea._ Once that second passed, the guard drew his sword as Coster threw himself upon him, his shiv clenched tightly in his hand and aiming for the guard's throat.

He was not as lucky this time as he was with the other two guards. This one did not fall when he was attacked, but did recoil across the room. Unfortunately, the guard was also able to elbow the shiv out of the way with his off-hand as Coster lunged, and was not harmed.

Thus, with his sword drawn, the guard charged forwards, his blade pointed forwards. Coster was in the position to close the door, and so put his back against it as he pushed it. He did not do so for long however, as the guard was fast upon him. Coster dodged as late as possible, sidestepping to the guard's right; as he'd hoped, the guard missed him and fell on the floor, closing it for him. Whirling around, the guard sliced once, twice, and then performed a low thrust – huffing with each strike. Having avoided the first two attacks with back-steps, Coster found the opportunity to retaliate on the third, stabbing the guard's wrist with his shiv. As it pierced his skin, Coster used it to pull the guard towards him.

Already having extended his body in the thrust and being off-balance, the pull Coster performed send the guard stumbling down, his hand hanging in the air as Coster controlled it with his shiv. Putting a leg around the man's sword arm and a boot against his throat (the shiv still in him), Coster said:

"Drop the sword, and _don't_ make a sound."

The guard glared back, but released his grip on the sword, as blood trickled down his wounded arm. Coster picked it up with his off-hand, and drove it into the guard's throat. He didn't have the time to react.

Taking a look at his surroundings, he realised he was standing in a small common room. There was a roaring fireplace with kettles of food above it, and a large table with several chairs. Two of the corners of the room were also stacked full of lidded barrels – he was surprised neither him nor the guard had tripped on them. The door he came from was closed but unbarred, whilst the door that led out of the room was closed but could not be barred. He only hoped no one had heard the struggle. He barred the door he entered from and placed the guard's body in the corner of the room. He then pushed a table and some chairs in front of it, attempting to make the whole arrangement look as normal as possible.

Having done that, he went to the door that led out of the room, and slowly opened it. Seeing and hearing nobody around, he exited the room, and found himself at an intersection. Three hallways stretched out, to his front and flanks. Stone walls, ceilings and floors, with carved wooden beams on the corners and every few feet. He wasn't sure if they were just decoration or actually had any structural benefit. Each hallway was dimly lit by candles on sconces, and whilst the right and left ones led to other rooms, the one to his front split after some distance. He chose the one to his front, and crept forwards, listening not only for threats, but himself also – to make sure he was moving stealthily enough.


End file.
